Picking Up Pieces
by Radycoolus X
Summary: When a band of anarchist vampires plagues the United States, Jack must face fangs and claws . . . as well as his past. - M for violence, language.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own "24" or any of the related characters.

* * *

Someone had let something slip, and now the incident as all over the news. Twelve Secret Service men, all of whom had been guarding the President the night of their untimely demise, were dead. Their mutilated bodies were found outside the hotel that the President and his staff had been occupying during his stay in Los Angeles. Injuries ranged from broken bones to missing limbs, many of which were found, but it was nearly impossible to place them with their respective owners.

The President was moved to a secure location, of course, but there was no way to tell if he was really safe. What had happened to those victims? Who managed to break through security in such a secretive manner that the corpses weren't discovered until the following morning? And, most importantly, why hadn't the perpetrators dispatched the President when they obviously had the chance? Was this a warning? A threat? A joke?

The media wasn't nearly as concerned with the motives so much as the deeds. Every station was reporting on the gory scene. Descriptions of the mutilations spewed from every screen, speaker, and page the reporting industry had to offer. Speculations followed, the suspects ranging from specially trained terrorists to aliens bent on the destruction of the United States, and then the rest of the civilized world.

Things did not improve with a second wave of mystery and frustration. While inspecting the bodies, three forensic experts were blown sky high as a minute bomb, hardly bigger than a thumb tack and hidden in the shredded stomach of one of the victims, went off. A specialist was brought in from the Los Angeles Counter Terrorist Unit, and once it was determined that the bodies posed no more threat, they were moved to the CTU underground for further inspection.

Several hours after the bodies were taken care of, rumor mill started up again. One of the most prominent tidbits was the theory that the bodies had been drained of all their blood. This was possible, as the majority of their blood seemed to be spread across the parking lot they were found in. However, the populace decided to ignore this little detail, preferring to spread the notion of the emergence of another enemy of the United States of America, much more deadly than any other: Vampires.

Of course, everyone but the loonies laughed at this possibility. Those that believed it were all ranting about the end of the world, but they were ignored for the most part. Vampires were a myth. They didn't exist.

Right?


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own "24" or any of the related characters. Curses.

A/N: This takes place between season one and season two, just FYI.

* * *

While the upper levels of CTU were abuzz with activity over that morning's murders, the floor that housed the forensic lab was strangely silent. Either the various teams examining the victims' bodies had been called away on some important business, or they had taken a late lunch. Personally, ex-federal agent Jack Bauer didn't care if they had locked themselves in the john. All that mattered was that they were gone, and he had the floor to himself.

Honestly, it was about time, too. He'd been sneaking around the lower half of CTU for the last half hour or so, waiting for the place to clear out. He wasn't really supposed to be there, and on any other day he wouldn't have minded too much if George Mason made a big scene about his unwanted presence, but he was on a self-assigned mission, and he didn't have the time or patience for interference of any kind. He had four objectives: get in, check the bodies, confirm or contradict his suspicions, and get out. No, make that five: Kim wasn't answering her phone. He should check on her before going home.

Right now, though, he had to focus. It wasn't easy to keep a clear head as he walked through the blindingly white halls. He had heard so many things about the attack on the Secret Service, and he wasn't sure what he could believe. So much of it could be exaggerated by the media, and he really hoped it was. Okay, so he knew that it wasn't aliens or Elvis' vengeful spirit or any of that crock. It was the mention of vampires that got to him.

Just the word sent him into a silent frenzy. It wasn't easy with all that "Twilight" crap floating around, though the series' habit of being so far off made it easier to put it out of his mind. Still, thoughts, memories, were there, buried deep, nearly forgotten. Every now and then, something would bring them to the top and they would flow into his waking mind, only to be hidden again.

Unfortunately, there was no way to hide them now. Not today. Everything he knew, everything he remembered, was at the forefront, beating at his skull, demanding to be acknowledged, to be released into this world of science and skeptics. Here! the everything screamed. Here I am! Look at me! Listen to me! Accept me! Accept yourself!

Not today, his mind hissed, shoving the thoughts back into oblivion, where they belonged. Not now.

Slipping into the lab, Jack cautiously closed the door behind him, glancing around to make sure the room was empty. There were only two bodies in the room at the moment; the others were probably in storage, either having finished their examination or awaiting their turn. The corpses lay on the metal tables, covered in sheets. An array of forensic equipment lined the walls and floor, littered the desks and shelves. Jack nearly stumbled over a box of microscope slides as he made his way to the victims. He'd heard other agents joking about how unorganized the forensic nerds were, but now he was starting to wonder whether it was really a laughing matter or a serious issue that needed dealing with.

But, whatever. He wasn't director anymore. It wasn't his problem.

Standing just to the side of the bodies, Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ease his mind. When that little impulsive part of his brain decided to send him sneaking through CTU to look at some bodies, he hadn't known what to expect. Certainly not this terrible anxiety. What was there to be nervous about? Just a couple of dead guys under some white sheets. Nothing he'd never seen before. A familiar sight, actually . . .

So just do it.

His hand started forward to lift the sheet off of the nearest face, but it hesitated over the hidden lump. His stomach lurched, but, with half a snarl of frustration, he snatched at the sheet and pulled it back, instantly regretting the action.

Holding up the sheet in one hand, he stared, transfixed, at the faceless head lying on the table. Muscle and bone lay bare and dry in the fluorescent light. A single eye was shriveled in its socket; its partner had been punctured and collapsed in on itself. The throat area was unrecognizable. The head and body seemed to be attached by a mass of twisted, red flesh.

Rigid, Jack pulled the sheet, revealing more and more of the mutilated corpse. What skin remained was shredded and bruised, clinging to the body by only a few fibers. Deep furrows were torn into the flesh, the inside bright red, though devoid of liquids. Tissue was missing entirely in some places, and it was easy to see grooves running through the bones.

This was not the work of a knife, an axe, or any other object used by man. The wide, rough furrows in the bone were done quickly, viciously. Mesmerized, Jack ran his own finger along the familiar wounds. The bone was smooth against his skin, until he reached a part where it had splintered. The shards caught unexpectedly, and he lifted his hand away, returning it to his side. This was different. Claws, nails, didn't do this. This was a bite. Powerful jaws, filled with an alarming arsenal of fangs, had gotten hold of the victim's leg here, biting down with unbelievable force, crushing the bone just as easily and pleasurably a child might devour peanut brittle.

And Jack knew how much the sick fuck had enjoyed it. He could tell by the intensity of the wounds. This wasn't a professional just getting the job done. No, this was the work of a rogue out to shake up the populace, to make a statement.

He also knew how easy it was to get caught up in the moment. Maybe the perpetrator hadn't meant to go so far, to be so vehement. There was nothing like the sensation of slaughter. The taste, smell, feel, sound of it all. Even before the blood came, the victim screams, struggled, their heart beating to burst through their ribcage. Then their skin, so soft against your own, and so weak. You can't help but tear into it, and it just melts away at your touch. Then the blood pours, steaming in the night as the screaming is drowned, your own heart beating again, racing against theirs as the bloodlust fuels your fury. Then, even when it's over, you carry their agonized cries through the night and into the next sunrise, a token of past atrocities and . . .

"Jack?"

A wind of involuntarily held breath escaped his lungs, his eyes snapping open. Jack's heart fluttered and he forced himself to relax as he turned to see another man standing in the doorway, staring at him quizzically.

"Hey, Tony," He grinned, letting the sheet drop over the body.

"What're you doing down here?"

"Collecting a report for George," the agent said, indicating a stack of papers on a desk near the door. "What are you doing down here?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just looking," Jack sighed dismissively. "Heard some stuff, thought I'd see for myself."

"Ah."

Strained silence enveloped the next few seconds before Tony spoke again. "How're you doing?"

"Decent," Jack shrugged. He didn't particularly want to discuss his personal life right now.

Tony nodded, his eyes drifting to the bodies. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know," Jack said, although he had a pretty good idea. "What are people saying?"

"The media's going with the vampire story," Tony shrugged. "But that's just a cover. I mean, come on, really? Vampires? Impossible."

"No," Jack corrected him, his feigned pleasantness giving way to a dark sincerity. "Improbable, maybe, but not impossible."

* * *

_A/N: Well! Now that you've been sucked in to my little tale (I hope), I've got just a few things I wanna say: As previously stated, this fic takes place sometime between the first and second seasons-probably a few weeks before the events of the second (it doesn't really matter). This is because I've only seen the first season and about a third of the second season. As such, I'm not exactly an expert on everything "24," so if you feel the need to call me on something, don't be shy about correcting me (that goes for other things, too. Like logic flaws, grammar, etc. Anything you think I need to tweak, just let me know!). Just try to avoid spoiling future seasons for me, yes? I'll try to catch up as soon as I can! (I don't have TV, so I'm relying on the DVDs at my library, which may prove problematic in the future...)Anyway, thanks for giving me a chance, and I hope you enjoy! (I promise it'll pick up soon!) Also, if you read this entire thing, I love you :3  
_


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: God, let's just get this out of the way: I do not own "24," "The Lost Boys," or "Stand By Me" . . . you people satisfied?

A/N: Forgot to mention that, although the first season is from 2001 or so, this is taking place around 2010, so I don't have to blow my brains out making sure my facts line up. Also, I would like to apologize for the length of time between uploads. School is sort of a bitch right now, but I'm trying to get in as much writing as I can . . .

* * *

Cigarette smoke filtered through the soft blue light, covering the club in a lazy haze. Mellow voices rose and fell with the music of the live band, instruments playing quietly. A calm, comfortable atmosphere filled the single room. Though it was only a few hours after midnight, the small building was filled with patrons of every kind, all seated at the small round tables and enjoying themselves.

There was one corner that remained untouched by the gentle light. Hidden in the shadows, a small party of men sat around their own table. They were perfectly still, silent, their stony faces blank, all eyes turned to one man in particular. Leaning back in his seat, boots up on the table, he twirled an unlit cigarette in his fingers, watching it with steely eyes, considering it. Finally, he placed it in his mouth and let his feet drop to the floor, leaning forward on the table to examine those around him.

Satisfied with what he saw, he lit the cigarette and spoke in a voice so soft that it would not have been heard even in the quietest of settings. Not by humans, anyway. Fortunately, the assembled were all far beyond ordinary. The man's lips didn't move-not that that mattered, as his face was hidden in the darkness-but they could hear him loud and clear.

"So, Opie, I hear some of your boys got a little reckless."

Another man, also hidden, spoke just as quietly, though his deep, powerful voice reverberated in the ears of his fellows. "They've been dealt with, James. They won't be a bother anymore."

"But the damage's been done," James mused in his slight British accent, spewing a mist of smoke across the table. "And now we're out six men. And Angela, too. I never would have suspected meek little Angela."

"They must've got her on something. Something strong."

"Undoubtedly. Still, the fact remains that we're short," James sighed irritably, brushing his long, unruly hair out of his face. "And this is no time to be short. Things are going to happen, Opie. Big things. We need everyone we can get."

"I'll have my remaining men sweep the city."

"No, we've cleaned up here. Every vampire is now with us or dead." James spat. "No, send a team over to the coast. Santa Carla. Get some new recruits."

"Santa Carla? I thought the last clan was wiped out years ago."

"Yes, but there's more than enough rogues running around now that the big guys are gone. They're not strong, but we can use all the meat we can get," James informed him. "Go check the boardwalk. That's a hotspot if I ever saw one. Oh, and we need some humans. Women. Just grab a handful from around here. They need to know the city."

Opie nodded. "That all?"

"Mm-hm." James closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair, his boots coming to rest on the table edge once again. A satisfied breath rushed through his lungs as he let the soft music waft over him. For the first time in many nights, he was content. Sure as hellfire, the waxing moon would soon bring stress, trouble, panic, chaos, but for now, he was content, and that was enough.

* * *

The boardwalk was alive with music, lights, people. Shrieks of delight and terror mingled with the roar of ocean waves that crashed along the shore. The sounds floated through the air with a mess of smoke, working their way into every nook and cranny available, through shop doors and car windows, filling the ears of every being, human and otherwise, that could be found under the gaudy carnival lights that night. However, there were a few places where the sound did not penetrate, try as it might. One such location was a small room, its walls at least a foot thick and reinforced with blessed silver. The inner walls were lined with an array of vicious weaponry, ranging from the largest gun to the smallest stake, as well as a variety of books, all on a single subject: vampires.

This room was also part of the boardwalk community. Specifically, it was the town weirdo. It kept to itself. No one went in, no one went out. Very few knew what lethal secrets prowled with in its eccentric walls-mainly because even fewer knew that the place existed in the first place. It was buried deep among the covers of _Superman _and _Batman_. Dozens of comic book enthusiasts came within mere inches of the door, embedded in an inconspicuous wall, every single day. They had no idea that while they browsed their cheaply printed entertainment, much more serious things were happening behind that invisible door. They had no idea that calamity could strike at any moment, and the only save place would become behind that invisible door. They had no idea that a very special organization had its headquarters behind that invisible door.

They had no idea that the comic shop in which they spent their lonely nights was actually an ingenious cover for Frog Extermination.

No, they didn't exterminate frogs, as many first suspect. Their name was Frog. Edgar and Alan. Brothers devoted to serving the humanity of America through the violent pleasure of killing the foul beast known as the vampire.

The room we have been discussing was their safe house, just in case everything went to pot. From there they could monitor various cameras, all equipped with special film that could easily capture the vampire's image, that they had set up all over Santa Carla. The space was equipped with enough food and firepower to withstand a hostile vampire takeover for a few months, and the brothers were currently digging out a lower level to provide bunkers for any civilians lucky enough to take cover before being devoured by the stalkers of the night. It was quite impressive, actually, what two men could do with a pair of shovels and enough free time on their hands.

There was a lot of free time for digging holes into the ocean when you had very little business. Reports of vampire attacks in Santa Carla were dropping just as quickly as they had skyrocketed in the 70s and 80s. To be honest, the Frog brothers were bored. Selling comic books had its perks, but come on. It got old after awhile. Both were itching to be put in the field again, whether it was in California or New York. They wouldn't object to a long distance relationship if it meant they could stake something and watch it smoke and die-which might explain the excitement with which they met their first vampire-related phone call in months.

"Yes, sir, I can vouch for that," Edgar Frog confirmed, seated at his desk within the reinforced room, combat boots up on the desktop, phone between his ear and shoulder as his hands busied themselves with whittling yet another stake. "The vampires do seem to have been on the move since 1989. I can't say for sure whether they'd be in Los Angeles or not, but I wouldn't doubt it." The man on the other end of the phone sighed in frustration, and Edgar calmly attempted a rescue, "Look, I don't have that information right now, but if you just leave me your number I can-"

The line went dead. Edgar cursed and tossed the phone onto the desk just as Alan came in, wet and grimy from working on the civilian barracks. "Who was that?" He asked, leaning in the doorway.

"I didn't get a name, but he seems to believe that vampires have started showing themselves in Los Angeles."

"We should check it out."

"Definitely," Edgar said, stony faced as he examined the tip of the stake and admiring his handiwork. The Frogs were back in business.

* * *

Jack leaned back into the car seat, tossing the cell phone onto the passenger's seat. He glanced out the window at the entrance to CTU. No one had come out to yell at him for sneaking in, so Tony must've kept his mouth shut. That was good. Maybe the other agent understood that Jack wasn't really in the mood to be told what to do.

He wasn't really in the mood for anything. There were obviously vampires in LA, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Not now, anyway. He needed more information. Half a dozen dead bodies just weren't enough to go on. He'd been out of the loop for way, way too long-there was no way he could identify the guilty party based on their attack style. Hell, he didn't even know there were hostiles in LA. He was probably just as freaked out as anyone else.

No. He was freaking out much more than the ordinary civilian. He knew the truth, and it wasn't a pleasant truth.

With a sigh, he grabbed the cell phone and dialed Kim's number as he drove out of the parking lot. He should head downtown and see if he could spot anything out of the ordinary, though he doubted he would find anything just by driving around, and he definitely wasn't going to waltz into a vampire crime den unaided.

Kim didn't pick up, and Jack felt the frustration welling up again, though he knew he should probably he happy. If she wasn't answering, she was probably in bed like a good girl.

But he seriously doubted that.


End file.
